Barn of Terrors
by Zebulon Koons
Summary: The first paragraph is about a bird for those of you who just don't get it. To find out what I am talking about- read the darn story!
1. Dark Omens – Two Nights Before

**Barn of Terrors**

On the wings of a swallow... Nigh the old wood beam... A silver moon casts shadows long across the dusty floor.

**Dark Omens- Two Nights Before**

Something in the darkness stirred, but it did not awaken Michael Knight, who was asleep, alone, in a bed too small for his six foot five frame. Wings unfurled in the darkness, small claws clicking across an old wooden windowsill. But still the human stirred not at all, except of course for the steady rise and fall of his ribcage that signaled he was yet animate. The intruder now took wing and flew past the windows of two other humankind that were sound asleep in their beds. An older man who knew more than even his numerous years permitted, and a young woman with the tough, callused hands of a skilled worker. Something shimmering in the moonlight caught the raptor's eyes and it turned upon a wing and glided towards the manifestation. Avis landed on a smooth, black surface and watched a most unusual crimson stain glide back and forth across the face of the beast on which he now rode. The peculiar, ebony hulk moved backward in the pale moonlight, as if it were trying to escape the small fiend that perched atop its broad back. Avis laughed silently. However a most peculiar voice belonging to someone unseen shattered the night "Please move." The bird vanished into darkness, annoyed by his own failure to notice the humanoid.


	2. Omens Darker Still – One Day Before

**Omens Darker Still- One Day Before**

Fog rolled gradually over the Pennsylvania hills, chased before the thronging hoofs of an impending gale. A swallow swooped above, watching the roiling billows that appeared to fitfully take the guise of bovine. Somewhere below, standing skillfully on the edge of a stone precipice, watched a man.

"Hello Devon." Said Michael as he approached his boss from behind, hands shoved in the pockets of his tight blue jeans. "Hello Michael. A fine morning isn't it?" said Devon, hands clasped behind his back in the characteristic Devon manner. Michael laughed softly, shaking his head. "If you call fog fine, then I guess it is." Devon ignored the sarcastic comment from his smiling colleague and continued gazing out over the land, watching the erratic movements of a small speck against the horizon. Michael kicked a clod of dirt with the steel tip of his boot, apathetically contemplating the small arch of dust that followed, rising into the air and melting away to nothingness. "Don't you just love it out here, Michael? It was so very kind of Mrs. Wells to donate her estate to Knight Industries for the new Technology Museum!" Devon beamed, obviously ecstatic about this rare find. Michael nodded but did not respond. He was thinking very hard about something, and thinking was something he rarely did.


	3. After Some Thinking – Ensuing

**After Some Thinking- Ensuing**

Later that day, Michael confronted Devon. A hint of some strange, restless fear smoldered in his gray eyes, disturbing Devon greatly.

"Michael, are you all right?" asked Devon. Michael nodded, frowning.

"Look Devon. There's something about this place that freaks me out. I'd like to leave tonight, whether or not I have your permission. I know things have been slow, but isn't there _any_ mission you can send me on? It doesn't need to be exciting or important. I've even got a place to stay..."

Devon raised his hand to silence Michael. "All right, Michael. I'll see what I can dig up. But in the mean time, why don't you take a nice, long, relaxing walk?" Michael rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. "All right, Devon, whatever you say."

Michael returned to his room and changed quickly into sneakers and an old sweatshirt. As he said good bye to K.I.T.T., Bonnie came running up with a huge, smug grin plastered across her pretty face. "Michael! You have to see this!" Grabbing his hand, she pulled him toward the old farmhouse. It was a massive stone building with eerie, dark windows and a huge yawning porch. The overhang sagged wearily over the porch. The enormous sheets of rusted tin that served as its roof threatening to fall, and forcing Michael to duck as he followed Bonnie beneath it. The door was light. A single large sheet of ugly plywood with red paint peeling off in large flakes and an old brass doorknob. A single pane of glass marked the dead center of the door and a yellow film of age coated it so that seeing through it was nearly impossible. Once inside Bonnie headed down through a gaping chasm where a door once stood and into the basement. Michael paused before descending, glancing around the vacant room and followed Bonnie down the narrow flight of steps. The basement's floor was dirt. The dirt stank! Centipedes could often be _felt_ crawling through the grime and over the tops of your shoes. At the bottom Bonnie pointed to an old metal box that hung upon a wooden beam on the wall. Michael approached, a little confused. The words "Breaker" were scrawled on the front of the box with black electrical tape. Bonnie carefully opened the box, revealing a very large number of deadly looking switches. "Yeah? It's a metal box with a bunch of switches." He said, a little angry. "Not just _any_ metal box, Michael. Look at all of them! There aren't even that many rooms in this house!" Michael shrugged, not really being the technical sort himself. "So?" Bonnie heaved a sigh in aggravation. "Never mind!" and began poking around the metal contraption.


	4. The Jog – Ensuing the Ensuing

**The Jog – Ensuing the Ensuing**

Michael patted the sparkling black bonnet of the aging Trans Am one last time as he prepared to head off on his 'relaxing' excursion. The metal felt like baby skin beneath his touch. Trotting up an old country lane he gladly left the old house and farm far behind him. Michael was somewhat out of shape. His breath spiraled into the cool twilight air. A chilly breeze cooled the perspiration dripping down his back and face like a natural air conditioner. Beginning to feel spent he decided to pause on a small outcropping, blowing like a nervous stallion surveying his territory. His frigid gaze drifted across the misty landscape, irises having such a pale coloration that they merged with twin sclera, contrasting sharply with raven black pupils. A path, probably created by the herds of deer that lived in the area, cut through a nearby field. The field was overgrown with weeds and tall, wild grass that slowly choked out what was left of the crop from several years before. Curiosity got the best of Michael and he decided to trudge down the path and investigate.

The sun began to dip beneath the horizon; it's fiery fingers licking across the somber terrain. Michael gasped softly inhaling the crisp, fresh air. For a moment he thought he smelled fresh hay, maybe even the sickly sweet smell of horsehair. The faint crunch of old steel tractor wheels on hard ground drifting to his ears. Something caught the cuff of his jeans, and he tripped, landing hard on his hands and knees. Something sharp bit into his palms, and penetrated the dark blue denim covering his long legs. Scrambling to his feet, Michael gazed in confusion at his hands. In the dim light he could see small specks of blood, but it was nothing major. Wiping the blood off on his pants, he searched the ground for the culprit and what he saw shocked him.

The ground was no longer weeds and tall grass. It was corn stubble. Lifting his gaze he realized it wasn't twilight either but bright day! In the distance he could see several large, red-chestnut colored mules pulling a plow. Looking back at his hands to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, he heard a snap like someone stepping on the broken stalks. Looking up again he saw standing before him a beautiful woman. She was older, but still very beautiful. Her long, silvery blond hair cascaded down her back in moon washed ripples. She wore a sheer white dress that accented her shapely figure and a stunning agate pendant adorned her slender, swanlike neck. She reached out a hand to Michael, but he quickly realized that she wasn't pointing _at_ him but _past_ him. Turning he saw an old, black Ford Sedan racing across the field. It's tires churned up the dust sending reddish clouds billowing into the air, only to dissipate moments later, settling back onto the fertile ground from whence it came. A strange, numb feeling drained Michael's strength. Oddly enough, he wasn't afraid. It was more of a peaceful, reassuring feeling. He blinked his cold, bluish eyes as he wearily collapsed onto his knees. The feeling of the broken corn stalks pushing into his legs faded. Moments later, he was _back_. His wounds tingled as the cold night air hit the exposed flesh, but other than that mild discomfort he felt fine. Getting to his feet he ran from the field, the tall grass whispering eerily as it brushed against his body. He didn't stop until he was back at the farm.


	5. That Night – One Night Before

**That Night – One Night Before**

Michael couldn't have explained the cuts on his hands even if he had a reason to. The night was cold, and K.I.T.T.'s hood warm, so he lay down across the shimmering blackness and stared blankly at the indigo sky. Stars winked down at them, reflecting in the Trans Am's faultless alloys. K.I.T.T. was curiously still and it bothered Michael, but he was tired and didn't push a conversation that he knew he wouldn't be able to finish. Lights blinked on and off in various rooms as the copious personnel working for the Foundation got ready for bed. "Michaaaael." K.I.T.T. whispered, wondering if his companion had fallen asleep. "Yes, K.I.T.T.?" Michael asked sleepily. "Good night Michael." Replied the car. Michael sat up unexpectedly, going to bed suddenly seeming very inviting. However, to K.I.T.T.'s surprise and delight, he hopped from the hood and slid through the unlocked door and onto the driver's seat. Almost instantly, he was sound asleep.


End file.
